


Speed Right Through My Heart

by WildWolf25



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Getting Together, I don't know what to call this AU other than 'rural southwest gothic with nerds', Keith and Pidge are best friends, M/M, Motorcycles, Shiro: officer that man stole my heart, Ulaz: yea he does that, extraterrestrial highway, it's a real place check it out, there's not actually any aliens, written for a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 22:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18765367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildWolf25/pseuds/WildWolf25
Summary: The motorcyclist checked over his shoulder yet again, so intently that Shiro fully expected to see flashing police lights in his own rearview mirror.  The desert road was empty behind them.  What the hell was this guy running from?  The fashion police??  Shiro caught a glimpse of a wicked-sharp grin as the rider turned back to the road ahead of them, and he revved the engine before popping his bike up into a wheelie.Shiro lifted his foot off the accelerator, dropping his speed.  His mouth fell open in shock as the guy just… kept going.  On one wheel.  Zipping past Shiro’s car and pulling ahead of him.  Dear god, it had to have been at least thirty seconds.  How was he still up there on one wheel??  The guy had to be going at least eighty miles an hour, and Shiro still had his foot off the pedal out of sheer shock, so he managed to pull ahead of Shiro’s car in a matter of seconds.  Pretty soon -- but far longer than it should have logically taken -- the guy was dropping back to two wheels and gunning down the road until he was just a speck in the distance.(In which Shiro has a strange encounter on a lonely strip of desert road called “extraterrestrial highway”, but not the way he imagined)





	Speed Right Through My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A friend had a rough day recently so I took one of the AUs we've chatted about and wrote it to cheer them up. Credit for the idea goes to said friend, who actually saw something this crazy irl (not sure where, but I like this highway so I set it there)

Shiro always liked this little stretch of desert highway running through south-central Nevada.  First, in a humorous way, it was nicknamed “extraterrestrial highway” and was rumored to be the place of many odd sightings.  Even though Shiro had been driving this highway for years, he had never seen anything more suspicious than tumbleweed or a dust-devil spinning across the desert.  Still, though, he liked to keep his dashboard camera on, just in case a flying saucer ever crossed his path.

Second, and in a practical sense, it was the quickest and least congested way to get from his college apartment to his parents’ house, and the narrow two-lane road was surrounded by empty desert that looked beautiful any time of day.  The only downside was that the area was so remote that oftentimes the only radio station that came in without being overpowered by static was a country music station, but he could deal with that. It might have even grown on him, over the years, but he would never admit that to anyone.  

It was a nice drive, and while it might be uneventful, it was easy and got him home to visit his family, which he always liked.  So he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove, his right arm casually braced against the passenger seat so the metal of his prosthetic didn’t get too hot from the desert sun streaming through his windshield.  A nice, quiet evening, driving with the setting sun behind him, and not too many other cars on the road.

The squeal of rubber on asphalt and the roar of an engine rapidly approaching snapped him out of his thoughts and he checked his rearview mirror.  He caught just a flash of movement in the mirror, then it sped through his blind spot and rocketed past him on the shoulder of the road. It was a bright red motorcycle, its chrome engine gleaming in the light.  The rider was dressed in black boots, black leather riding pants, red and black gloves, and what looked like a black hoodie with a couple of white stripes on the arm. Thankfully, he was also wearing a helmet, but Shiro could see his eyes and most of his nose and mouth through the clear face shield.

Shiro grabbed the wheel with both hands and let his foot hover over the brake, just in case the motorcyclist did anything erratic.  He was riding just about even with the front of Shiro’s car. As he watched, the rider practically stood up and turned nearly fully around in his seat to check behind himself, and Shiro caught a glimpse of dark hair and stunning violet eyes behind his helmet before he noticed…

Was that…

Was that a goddamned _Danganronpa_ Monokuma hoodie?  

Shiro blinked, taken aback.  

The rider turned around again -- turned _fully around_ in his seat-- and looked over his shoulder, and Shiro saw that yes, half of his hoodie was black, half of his hoodie was white, and there was a fucking bear face and ears on the hood that was blowing in the wind behind him, one eye a jagged slice of red against the black side.  

The rider checked over his shoulder for a _third time_ , so intently that Shiro fully expected to see flashing police lights in his own rearview mirror.  The desert road was empty behind them. What the hell was this guy running from? The fashion police??

Shiro caught a glimpse of a wicked-sharp grin as the rider turned back to the road ahead of them, and he revved the engine before popping his bike up into a wheelie.

Shiro lifted his foot off the accelerator, dropping his speed.  His mouth fell open in shock as the guy just… kept going. On one wheel.  Zipping past Shiro’s car and pulling ahead of him. Dear god, it had to have been at least thirty seconds.  How was he still up there on one wheel?? The guy had to be going at least eighty miles an hour, and Shiro still had his foot off the pedal out of sheer shock, so he managed to pull ahead of Shiro’s car in a matter of seconds.  Pretty soon -- but _far longer_ than it should have logically taken -- the guy was dropping back to two wheels and gunning down the road until he was just a speck in the distance.  

Unable to believe what he had just seen, Shiro pulled his car over onto the dusty shoulder and threw the gear into park, then scrambled to reach for his dashboard camera.  He stopped the feed and played it back, watching the screen as the strange motorcyclist seemed to reverse toward him again and lift off the ground before pulling behind him in choppy, rapid speed.  He pressed play, and watched the screen raptly, as if he thought the image might have all been some crazy fever dream. But no, there was the empty road in front of him, lasting for just a few seconds, and then the motorcycle sped into the camera’s range of view.  Yes, there he was, two-toned bear hoodie and all, standing up to fully turn around and look over his shoulder a few times before pulling ahead enough for Shiro to catch the license plate on the back of his bike: _R3D PLD1N_.

Shiro paused the video just before the guy sped out of view, freezing that wicked-sharp, cheshire-cat grin just as he turned to face down the road ahead of him like a challenge, his arm mid-flex under that stupid anime hoodie as he revved his engine.  He would have looked almost cool, except for the bear ears attached to the hoodie that was caught mid-flap in the wind behind him.

Well.  It might not be an extraterrestrial, but it was definitely the weirdest thing Shiro had ever seen on this stretch of highway.

~~~~~~~

“What the fuck are you wearing?”  

Keith pulled off his helmet and pushed a hand through his hair to get rid of the sweat that had accumulated there on the long ride.  He shot Pidge a pointed look. “Hey, I’m not the one who spilled orange soda all over my leather jacket, but I _am_ the one who had to take it to the cleaners.  It’s still there, thanks to you.”

“I wouldn’t have spilled our drinks if you hadn’t popped a wheelie.”  Pidge reminded him. “I told you not to.”

“It was just a baby one.”  

“Right, the same way that spill on your jacket was ‘just a baby one’.”  Pidge rolled her eyes and grabbed her lime-green helmet -- a birthday present from Keith, to get her to stop whining about how his ‘smelled like man sweat’.  She plopped herself down on the top step of the Holts’ front porch and did up the laces on her boots. “Surprised you’d come back to this dead-end town so soon.  Does college suck that bad?”

“Nah, just missed your dumb face.”  Keith cracked a smile. Pidge was only a year behind him in school, but the two of them had been thick as thieves for years.  A friendship founded on sarcasm, deep-seated loyalty, and the same terrible taste in TV shows and video games. Pidge still had one more year in this tiny, middle-of-nowhere town, but then she could join him out west in California.  Knowing her, she was probably bound for Stanford. Which would give Keith a beautiful little ride along the coast to go visit her, instead of this dusty stretch of highway peppered with signs covered in _‘I want to believe’_ and _‘ET wuz here’_ bumper stickers (a weird touristy gimmick, and honestly the town wasn’t any less weird, either).  

Keith shrugged and put his kickstand down.  “Plus, my mom’s birthday is this weekend. Gotta come home for that.”  

“That, and if you didn’t come home eventually, the police force would hunt you down and drag you back.”  Pidge said knowingly.

Keith pulled a face.  “Not my fault my uncle’s the county sheriff.”  That didn’t mean he got off easy, either -- Kolivan was _still_ giving him grief over that speeding ticket two years ago.  And the first time he had given Pidge a ride, back when he only had one helmet and had graciously let her wear it?  Thank god Kolivan had let him off with a warning, but the way he ripped into him for it almost made him wish he had just given him a fine to pay and been done with it.  

Pidge stood up and patted her pockets down, suddenly frowning.  “Crap. Left my phone inside.” She turned and jogged back up the steps.

“Pidge, we’re going, like, five miles.”  

“I don’t care, you know I don’t go anywhere without my phone.”  Pidge called back before disappearing into the house. Keith groaned and cut the engine, which only made the slam of the screen door behind her sound louder -- Keith had _just_ oiled the damn thing for Mrs. Holt before he left for college, how did the desert dust get into it that quickly?  

While he waited for her, he pulled out his phone and, on a whim, opened the internet browser.  Thinking back to that weird car he had seen on his ride out here, he googled ‘ _silver land rover with BL4K L10N license plate’_ .  It was _just_ weird enough that he figured it had to be some kind of celebrity or something.  Who else got a vanity plate like that? Black Lion? Sounded like a superhero franchise or something.  Not to mention, the driver had been hot enough to be someone famous. Keith had only caught a few glimpses of him before he merged in front of the car, but the guy had been staring at him in open shock and awe, which Keith thought was funny.  Probably some movie star born and raised in the big city who had never seen a motorcycle that wasn’t a shitty Harley Davidson. But what was he doing in the middle-of-nowhere, Nevada?

Keith idly scrolled down the list of webpages, but didn’t see anything relevant.  Huh. Maybe the guy wasn’t famous, then. B-list celebrity, perhaps. Still good-looking.  Still worth it to show off a little and watch him gawk.

The screen door shrieked again as Pidge came bounding out, and Keith wondered if he should put their burger plans on hold and grab a can of WD-40, or just relentlessly text Matt until he agreed to go home and fix it himself.  Probably the latter -- he knew Pidge missed her brother, who was busy at grad school (in _Vancouver,_ of all places.  Keith admired him for getting into his program there, but damn, sometimes it was like he was at the edge of the solar system).  

“Got your baby?”  Keith asked, kicking up the stand.  

“Yep.”  Pidge patted the rectangle in her jacket that was likely her phone tucked safely into an inside pocket so it wouldn’t fall out (she wasn’t making _that_ mistake twice).  “And remember, just because we’re going to Sonic for dinner doesn’t mean you _‘gotta go fast’_ and get us killed.”  

“You like going fast.”  Keith waited for her to get settled behind him before starting his bike.  

“Only outside of town.  And not when you pop wheelies.”  Pidge told him.

“I pinky promise I won’t do that, the whole way there.”  He held up a pinky over his shoulder.

“Or the way back.”  She linked her pinky with his before he could catch the words.

“...Damn it.”  She was too smart for him, and now he had sworn on it.  But that didn’t mean Keith couldn’t still give her a little scare or two.  

Keith revved the engine and took off, peeling out of the driveway in a tight U-turn.  Pidge let out a startled yelp and grabbed him tight around the middle. In her desperation to not fall off (not that he would ever let her), she ended up with one arm locked around his waist and the other hand fisted in the sweatshirt right over the anime’s logo (and subsequently right over his left pec).  

“Still gay, Pidge!”  He yelled over the engine.  It was a bit of a joke between them -- naturally, in a town this small, everyone assumed that if a guy and a girl were friends, it was because they were dating.  So they had gotten their fair share of eye-winking and playful nudging in high school from people who didn’t see any other reason for the two of them to hang out.  Probably didn’t help things that they took each other to prom, but hey, neither had many other friends, and who else would agree to sneak up to the roof for most of the dance to look at the stars and play much better music on their phones?  They were more than comfortable as friends, and neither was interested in anything else.

“You’re still a daredevil, too, apparently!”  She shouted back. He laughed. She might put up a fuss for show, yet it was her who, five minutes later, had one fist punched toward the sky and was letting out a joyful yell into the setting sun as they tore through the desert.

~~~~~~~

_“Our next word is twelve letters, a noun, and means ‘the most perfect or typical example of a quality or class’  What letter would you like to buy?”_

_“I’d like to buy an ‘E’, Bob.”_

_“You’re in luck, there are three ‘E’s!”_

“It is ‘quintessence’.”  Ulaz called from the kitchen.  

Shiro looked up from the television.  “How the heck did you even get that when you’re not even in the room?”  

“I have ears.”  Ulaz returned from the kitchen with two large glasses of sweet tea lemonade.  “And it was in last week’s crossword puzzle.”

“You are the only person in the universe who could guess that word that quickly.”  Shiro said, accepting the proffered drink as the next poor sap on the TV guessed an ‘X’.

“Hardly.”  Ulaz eased himself down onto his armchair and rubbed his knee.  “Anyone who does the daily crossword would have a decent chance.”  

Shiro snorted and took a sip of his drink.  He liked hanging out with Ulaz, even if sometimes all they did was watch TV and complain about their joints like they were thirty years older than they both actually were.  It was much better than the first time they had met, in the middle of a war zone, with Shiro barely lucid enough to see the face of the field medic who was fighting to save him from bleeding out after a landmine ripped his arm off.  Shiro had actually figured he would just be one of the thousands he saw in passing during his deployment, never again to see him or learn if he lived or died -- just another memory among the noise he tried to quiet in his head when he was sent home.  He had been surprised, then, to show up to his regular physical therapy at the VA center and find that he recognized the guy re-learning how to walk after an explosion took his leg. Even more surprising was the realization that Ulaz actually lived in the same area as Shiro, or he had when he had moved back in with his parents while he got used to civilian life again.  Now, just a handful of years later, Shiro was trying his hand at college, Ulaz was a police officer, and they could both spend a peaceful evening watching television together whenever Shiro came back to their lonely little corner of the desert.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”  Shiro spoke up a few minutes later.  “Is there a way to look up someone by license plate, but like, _without_ getting them in legal trouble?”  

“Depends.”  Ulaz took a sip of his lemonade, the ice clinking in the glass.  

“On?”

“If you ask someone in law enforcement, if you have the plate number, and if they did anything illegal.”  

“You, yes, and no.”  Shiro paused. “At least, I don’t think it was illegal.  Just… weird.”

“Weird enough that you want to track this person down?”  

That goddamn two-toned bear hoodie flapped in the breeze in Shiro’s mind, at odds with that cool, suave grin and the badass bike.  “Yes.”

“Do you have a photo?”

“Video.”  

Ulaz leaned forward and set his glass on the coffee table, then held out his hand palm-up.  “Show me.”

Shiro reached for his backpack and pulled out the dashboard camera.  “You can’t arrest the guy, though.”

“That depends on what they’re doing.”  Ulaz said. Lawful-good to a fault, Shiro thought wryly as he turned on the device.  

He rewound the feed and pressed play before handing it over.  Ulaz watched the small screen for a minute, and at this angle, Shiro couldn’t see the video at the same time.  He could tell when the rider came into view, though, because Ulaz tilted his head slightly and blinked. Then, to Shiro’s utter confusion, he covered his mouth with his hand and erupted into the gruffest giggles Shiro had ever heard anyone of his stature emit.  

Shiro stared at him.  “What?”

Ulaz composed himself and paused the video, still smiling like Shiro had showed him a picture of a kitten in a basket rather than a bizarre dude pulling impossible motorcycle maneuvers after seemingly walking out of discount Comic-Con.  “I know him. We see him in the station quite often.”

Uh-oh.  “Gets arrested a lot?”  Shiro’s spirits sank. Of course a guy that good-looking had to be a criminal…

“No, no, he’s got a nearly spotless record aside from a few speeding infractions here and there.”  Ulaz pressed play again, and chuckled as the roar of the engine came out of the tinny-sounding speaker at the top of the device.  A sound that Shiro had watched the video enough times to recognize as the moment he popped up onto one wheel. Ulaz hummed. “My, that’s rather impressive, isn’t it?”

“Ulaz, who is he?”  Shiro pressed.

“Oh, he’s my boss’s nephew.”  Ulaz said. “He and his mother live in the next town over.  Or, no…” he paused thoughtfully. “He’s at college now, isn’t he?  Must be why he hasn’t stopped by to bring Kolivan’s lunch when he forgets it.  That man can remember everyone who has passed through this town, but he can’t remember to pick up his sandwich on the way out the door.  Was this on Route 375?”

“Yeah.”  Shiro was almost surprised Ulaz could identify it, but then he remembered there was essentially one major road going through this particular area.  

“Ah, then he must be home for a visit.”  Ulaz snapped his fingers. “Yes, his mother’s birthday is this weekend.  Kolivan left work early to buy flowers.”

“Are you a police officer, or a secret intelligence agent?”  Shiro stared at him, stunned and a little terrified.

“It’s a small town, Shiro.”  Ulaz said dryly. “Everyone knows everyone’s business.”  He played the video back once more, chuckling again and shaking his head fondly before turning it off and handing it back to Shiro.  “Why don’t you come to the station with me tomorrow? It’s always rather slow, so no one will mind a visitor, and there’s a good chance he’ll be by to say hello to his uncle.”

~~~~~~~

At Ulaz’s request, Shiro emailed the video file to him so he could blur out the license plate number and show it to a couple of folks around the station.  Shiro was a little wary, but Ulaz assured him that the sheriff’s nephew was well-liked among the other officers and he just wanted to see how long it took them to figure out who it was.  They didn’t have to tell the sheriff himself, Ulaz reasoned. It was a pleasant change to see his normally stoic friend in a mood that could be called practically mischievous, so Shiro ultimately agreed to send him the video to edit.  

The next morning, Shiro left his parents’ place and drove into town to meet Ulaz for coffee, then the two made their way to the small, old county police station with Shiro following Ulaz’s cruiser.  The building -- like the town -- had seen better days, but the rickety AC unit propped up in the front room window still provided a welcome reprieve from the blistering heat that was already beating down on the desert when they arrived.  Ulaz greeted the few officers milling about and sweating over their paperwork, quickly introducing Shiro as his friend and not a delinquent he was bringing in.

“Actually, Shiro saw something rather amusing on his way into town last night…” Ulaz smirked and pulled out his phone, video file already loaded up.  

“Is it one of old man Iverson’s missing cattle?”  Thace didn’t look up from his own report, rubbing his temple in frustration.  

“Not quite.”  Ulaz set his phone down right on top of Thace’s half-filled-out stolen/missing property report, letting the video play.  

Thace glanced at the screen, tilting his head thoughtfully.  When the motorcyclist popped up onto one wheel, he squinted suspiciously at the screen for a moment and then burst out laughing.  “That little… Hey! Antok! Get out here!” He called over his shoulder, paperwork forgotten.

An enormous, burly man with a nightstick on his belt came out of the back room holding a coffee mug that looked entirely too small in his hands, frowning.  “What?”

“You’ve got to see this.”  Thace pushed the screen at him.  

Antok barely looked at it before his frown deepened.  “Why’s his engine making that noise? What’s that boy doing to my bike off in the big city?”  

“It’s his bike and you know it.”  Thace said.

“I helped him build it.”  Antok took a sip of his coffee and watched the insanely-long wheelie on-screen.  “Nice.” He nodded once, looking approving, then wandered off.

Shiro watched on in amusement as Ulaz and Thace proceeded to show the video to any officer they came across (along with, to his bewilderment, a local diner owner who came in to drop off a wallet left at their business, and a man who was sitting in the station’s sole holding cell for public drunk and disorderly conduct).  The video seemed to be the highlight of the normally slow station, bringing a bit of amusement to everyone who walked in. Shiro was glad Ulaz had blurred out the license plate, because it seemed that only the police officers recognized the motorcyclist -- the civilians, thankfully, just thought it was a funny trick video off the internet.

Everything was going well, until Shiro realized that someone else was looking over the group’s shoulder while Thace was showing the video to Iverson, the rancher who had stopped by about his supposed cattle-theft.  

“I know that hoodie.”  A deep voice said suddenly.

Thace closed the video and all but tossed the phone back at Ulaz.  “That’s from a precinct that’s out of state.” He said quickly.

Shiro had only met the sheriff on one other occasion several years ago, when the man had pulled him over for a broken tail-light that he had been on his way into town to get fixed.  That stern frown and the old scar down the side of his face still struck the same nervous fear into him as the first time he had seen him. “That’s _Keith_.”  He said firmly.  

“But we blurred the plates--”

“Honestly, Thace, I’m well aware that Antok spent half the summer with Keith working on that bike he pulled out of a junkyard.  That mess was in my sister’s garage for months.” Kolivan said bluntly. “I don’t know how you thought putting a tiny blur over the plates would hide it.”  

“And anyway, Kolivan identified him based on his clothes.”  Ulaz shrugged.

Kolivan scowled.  “Yes. I know that hoodie.”  He shook his head with a sigh and wandered off to his desk.  “He should be by in an hour or two. Said he would stop in around lunch with a card he wants us to sign for Krolia’s birthday.”

Things were relatively quiet for a while.  Someone came by to pay bail for and pick up Mister Drunk-and-Disorderly (who was by now hungover and snoozing in the holding cell), Antok ran the ID in the found wallet through the system and called the person’s phone number to notify them (it turned out to be a tourist, who while happy the wallet had been recovered, was not happy about backtracking fifty miles on their road trip to come pick it up), and Thace grumbled over even _more_ paperwork he had to do to put the missing cattle case to rest after the rancher, Iverson, told him he had rounded them all up and fixed the broken fence after all.  Between it all, anyone who had a few minutes to spare wandered over to offer Shiro water or coffee and chat with him about his studies or how he met Ulaz. They were all quite friendly, and Shiro enjoyed talking with them.  

The group was in the middle of discussing whether they should go out for lunch at the town’s single diner, when the sound of a rumbling engine pulling up to the gravel parking lot made them all look out the window.  Shiro felt his heart jump at the sight of a familiar red motorcycle pulling up. This time, the rider was wearing faded dark jeans and a black t-shirt with a peeling image of Godzilla on the front. Shiro narrowed his eyes suspiciously; cool-looking find at the local Goodwill?  Or was the guy really just _that_ big of an anime nerd?  

A moment later, the station door opened, letting in a blast of hot air as the guy came inside.  He tugged his gloves off as he nudged the door shut behind him with his black biker boot. “Hey, question: has Kolivan eaten lunch a single day since I left town?”  The guy pulled his helmet off and tucked it under his arm after dropping a brown paper bag on the front desk.

“Most days he steals mine.”  Ulaz grumbled. The guy laughed, and Shiro’s heart did a funny little flip before tap-dancing in his chest.  He had caught a glimpse of his face when he passed him before, but the grainy image on the dash-cam didn’t do him justice.  Dark hair that fell to his shoulders and flipped up at the bottom from being pressed under his helmet, bright eyes that were the gray-indigo color of an evening thunderstorm over the desert, a faded scar across his cheek that somehow made look cool enough that Shiro nearly forgot about the hoodie he had been wearing when he first saw him on the road… and _god,_ that gorgeous laugh…  

He lifted a hand and called out a greeting to Thace as he turned, then seemed to notice Shiro in the chair beside Ulaz’s desk and froze.  “Wait, you… you’re the Black Lion guy!”

Shiro blinked, taken aback.  “I’m the what, now?”

“Your license plate.”  He said. “The silver land rover?  Yellow ribbon sticker on the bumper?  With the plates that say ‘black lion’?”

“...B-L--four-K space L-one-zero-N?  That’s just the random one the DMV gave me.”  Shiro’s gaze shifted to the window, where he could see his car parked in the lot outside.  “Huh. I guess it kind of does look like it says ‘black lion’.” That sounded pretty cool, actually.  Way more cool than he was, but this guy didn’t need to know that. His eyes slid back to the anime-daredevil.  “And you’re the guy who popped a wheelie going eighty on the highway?”

Kolivan’s head snapped over to glare at him, so fast that his hat nearly fell off.  “Going _how fast_ , Keith?”  

“No one else was around.”  The guy, Keith apparently, bristled back.  

“Guess I’m nobody, then.”  Shiro deadpanned, while Ulaz pointed at him and nodded meaningfully to Keith.  

“You’re one to talk.”  Keith crossed his arms and looked pointedly at Shiro’s chair beside Ulaz’s desk, presumably the one people sat in while he took their statements or processed them.  “What’d Ulaz bring you in for, huh?”

“Lunch, mainly.”  Ulaz hummed. “I know Shiro from my army days.  He’s visiting his folks who live a few miles from here.”  

“Oh.”  Keith’s sly grin slipped.  “Sorry.”

“What’d you think I was here for?”  Shiro chuckled, curious. For some reason, the question made Keith blush bright pink up to his ears.  

“I dunno,” he muttered, looking away.  “Some B-list celebrity or whatever who thinks he’s hot shit because he has, like, a UFO-hunting show on network TV and got arrested trying to sneak into the military base nearby, or something?”  

Shiro laughed outright at that.  If only his life was that interesting.  

“Hey!  It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened!”  Keith defended.

“That is true, we do get those surprisingly often…” Thace mused.  He tapped a pen against his lips thoughtfully. “A number of them even drive land rovers, as well…”

“See?”  Keith gestured at the cop.  

Shiro laughed again.  “Not a UFO hunter, just a guy coming back to visit his family and an old friend.  And I’m definitely not a celebrity, unless you count getting my picture in the county paper for the fifth grade science fair.”  He chuckled. “Like I could ever be in movies with this on my face…” he rubbed a finger over the scar across the bridge of his nose, a regretful souvenir from his time overseas.  

Keith’s mouth gave a funny twist, like he was trying to suppress a smile and fight back another blush all at once.  “...I bet you could make it work.” He looked away and cleared his throat, crossing his arms again. “Well, you know, Kolivan hates it when people just hang around the station...”  At his words, the sheriff tilted his head and gave him a curious look, likely wondering why Keith was saying that when he had been clearly fine with letting Shiro hang around for the past few hours as long as he didn’t interrupt the officers’ work.  Keith gave him a pointed look before turning back to Shiro. “Might want to get out of here before he kicks you out. Do you, uh, wanna grab a burger or something? I’ve got some time to kill anyway.”

A smile spread across Shiro’s lips.  “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Alright, but heads up if you’re riding with me: the only other helmet I have on me is lime green and will probably be tight on you.”  Keith turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Shiro got to his feet, bemused that Keith had assumed he would be riding with him.  What an unusual way to offer a ride… He looked at Ulaz uncertainly; they _had_ planned to spend the day together… But Ulaz waved him off with a knowing smirk.  Shiro flashed him a smile and jogged after Keith. “You saying I have a big head?”  He asked Keith, shoes crunching over the gravel.

“Nah, just that the gremlin that usually wears it has a small head.”  Keith pulled the helmet out of the leather panniers on the side of his bike and thrust it at him.

Shiro took the helmet, turning over to look at the sticker on the back -- a d20 dice.  “Dungeons and Dragons fan?” He asked casually.

“The same aforementioned gremlin.”  Keith slipped his helmet on, slapping the face shield down to hide the blush creeping over his cheeks again.  

“You call yourself a gremlin?”  Shiro asked.

Keith whipped around defensively.  “That’s not mine, it’s my friend’s!  She’s the nerd who put a sticker on the helmet I gave her!”  

“Was the _Danganronpa_ Monokuma hoodie her’s, too?”  Shiro couldn’t resist grinning cheekily.  

Keith froze, his eyes widening behind his face shield.  Then they narrowed again. “If you knew what it was, you’re just as lame as I am, don’t even pretend.”  He said.

“Probably.”  Shiro laughed and jammed the green helmet on.  It was a bit small, but they weren’t going far.  “So. Burgers? Or something more fitting for an anime fan, like sushi or ramen?”  

“You know damn well we don’t have anything like that in this town.”  Keith swung his leg over his bike and put the key in the ignition. “Visit me in California if you want that.”  

“I live in California.”  Shiro sat down behind him, then realized he didn’t know where he was supposed to put his hands.  “Um…?”

“It’s a date, then.  Oh, and waist is probably your best bet if you don’t want to eat asphalt.”  Keith told him, revving the engine. Shiro hoped the tight helmet would prevent his blush from spreading to his ears as he did as he was told, hesitantly putting his hands on Keith’s waist in a way that he hoped was appropriate.  Of course, that kind of went out the window when Keith gunned it and Shiro had to grab hold around his middle for dear life.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I already bet someone will ask about ages: In this AU, Shiro went straight into the army after high school, but wasn’t there long before his accident got him honorably discharged and sent home. He’s actually only perhaps two years older than Keith, who is a freshman in college and nearly 19, just because of where his birthday falls in the school year. Ulaz had a longer military career than Shiro before they met, even though they both went home around the same time, and he is in his late twenties, maybe 30. So considerably older than Shiro, but they’re friends because of what they went through, and frankly, adulthood friends just Be Like That Sometimes (rather than in school when your friends are all the same age as you). But Shiro and Keith are close in age, which Ulaz teases Shiro that "it's nice you're making friends your age..."
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading! Please let me know if you liked it! I've got a tumblr, too, [gold-leeaf](https://gold-leeaf.tumblr.com)!


End file.
